


highborn beauty

by salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, a distinct lack of knowledge about medieval inns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: “You promised me a highborn beauty, and we’ve got one right here.”  Bronn smirked.  “You’re as highborn as they come, Ser Jaime, and the prettiest thing in this city, besides.”





	highborn beauty

Bronn didn’t have a problem with the idea of dying.  He knew that his castle and fortune and lady wife were all distant dreams he’d be lucky to see become reality.  As sellswords went, he _was_ fairly lucky; he was still alive, after all.

No, Bronn didn’t take issue with the idea of dying.  He _did_ take issue with never being _paid_ for the services he provided.  For, in fact, having his payment _taken from him_ right when it was in reach, the castle _literally in sight_.  That, Bronn was less happy about.

Where the fuck was his gold?  Where was his prize?  All he had were empty promises, and those did little to soothe him the night before a battle when he could well lose his head.

Jaime was no help at all; where it was usually impossible to get him to shut the fuck up and take a breath, tonight he’d been quiet, alternating between sitting in the chair in the corner and pacing back and forth across the creaky floorboards in the shitty room they’d managed to buy for the night.  Somehow, it was even more grating than the posh voice could be. 

“You know,” Bronn said, finally disturbing the quiet.  He was picking his fingernails clean with the tip of his dagger and didn’t look up as he spoke.  “As I recall it, Jaime Lannister, you promised me a lordship, and a castle, and a highborn beauty to make my wife.”

Jaime stopped his pacing and turned to look at Bronn with an arched eyebrow.  “I did,” he agreed.  “And you’ll get all three, just as soon as we win this war.”

“If,” Bronn corrected.  “ _If_ we win.”

Jaime shrugged.  “That’s the chance you take,” he said, turning back to his pacing.

“Seems to me like I’m taking a helluva lot of chances without getting anything in return,” Bronn observed, smirking a little when he noticed Jaime pause.  It was always easy to trip these Lannisters on their pride.

Sure enough—

“A Lannister—” Jaime began, and Bronn moved so fast Jaime could only blink in the half-heartbeat before Bronn’s knife stuck hard in the wall just past his head.

“ _Don’t_.”  

Bronn had heard enough of that fucking phrase to take him to _two_ graves, and he’d had about enough of taking it as payment in lieu of _actual_ payment.

Jaime stared at him, wide-eyed, for a single moment before a scowl stole across his expression.  “I don’t quite know what you want me to say, Bronn,” he said, turning to pluck the knife from the wooden beam it was sunk in.  Or, trying to; his left hand couldn’t quite get a good enough grip on it.  He gave up and turned back to Bronn, who was now on his feet rather than lounging across the bed.

“Stop making me empty promises,” Bronn suggested, “and pay your fuckin’ _debt_.”

“I’ll just build a castle for you here, shall I?” Jaime retorted sarcastically.  “You’ll get your due, Bronn, as soon as we’re home.  I give you my word.”

Bronn waved him off.  “I don’t want your fuckin’ word,” he said.  “And I don’t want a castle, not right now.  A castle and a lordship ain’t all you promised, Jaime—I don’t need all of it, just some."  

Jaime rolled his eyes when he realised what Bronn was implying.  “I don’t think there are many highborn ladies to hand,” he said, mock-apologetically.  “But if you insist, I’ll find you the most well-born whore in the city.  You can play at pretend for tonight, and die satisfied on the morrow.”

He went to leave but Bronn crossed to the door before he could, standing in front of it to block the way.  “No need,” he said cheerfully.  “You promised me a highborn beauty, and we’ve got one right here.”

Jaime actually looked around the room for a moment, as though expecting a girl to tumble from behind the shutters.  “Where?” he asked pointedly.

Bronn smirked.  “You’re as highborn as they come, _Ser_ Jaime, and the prettiest thing in this city, besides.”

Jaime’s face twisted and he took a step back.  “I’m not a whore,” he said sharply.

“No,” Bronn agreed.  “I never asked for a whore, though.”

“And I don’t fuck men,” Jaime continued, louder.

Bronn snorted.  “Don’t lie to me, Lannister.  I’ve heard the way you talk about Arthur bloody Dayne—what was it?  The Sword of the fucking Morning?  Aye, I bet you loved his sword alright.”

And Jaime could wear his cold fury and his indignant denial all he liked; the flush that spread over his face gave him away even before his eyes flickered off to the side and he refused to meet Bronn’s gaze.

“I can have you a whore within the hour, as beautiful as you like, a _man_ if you want—”

“I don’t want a whore,” Bronn interrupted bluntly.  “I don’t wanna _play pretend_.  No, I want _you_ , pretty boy, and I mean to have you.  Because if I die tomorrow, Jaime Lannister, I’m gonna die knowing I spent my last night fucking you in the ass, and maybe then I won’t care so much about losing my lovely castle.”

Jaime simply stared, dumbstruck, and Bronn reckoned it was the first time since he’d met the other man that he’d ever seen him genuinely lost for words.  

“You _can’t_ be serious.” 

“As a knife to the back,” Bronn deadpanned.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be begging for it by the time I’m through.  And I thought Lannisters _always_ paid their debts?” he added, scratching his chin with insincere uncertainty.

For a long moment, neither of them moved; they simply held gazes across the few feet that separated them.  Then Jaime reached up with one furious hand and began unbuckling the clips of his jacket.

“I won’t beg,” he said stiffly.

“You will,” Bronn promised.

Jaime didn’t say anything else as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground at his feet.  

“And the rest,” Bronn told him, gesturing at his tunic and breeches as he moved back to sit on the edge of the bed and watch.

Jaime didn’t move immediately.  He just stared at Bronn as though the force of his gaze alone might change his mind, but Bronn only made a show of settling in, arching one eyebrow and motioning for Jaime to continue.

Jaime removed the hand first, setting it carefully on the chair beside the door.  His tunic went next, though it was a slower process; Bronn had to resist the urge to get up and take it off him as Jaime slowly pulled his arms through and tugged it one-handed over his head.  It joined his jacket on the floor, and Bronn took a moment to look him over.  

Ser Jaime the Kingslayer was always a sight to behold; he was easily one of the most attractive people Bronn had ever set eyes on, and it was impossible not to notice.  He was usually golden and splendid in his armour, broad and strong and tall, digging his heels into his horse or striding purposefully beside his king or his sister or his retinue of military men.

Then there was the Jaime Lannister Bronn had known more recently; Jaime in his jacket or tunic, sweating and breathing hard as he trained, and trained, and trained.  Swigging from a water skein and wiping the spare droplets from his lips with the one, careless hand he had left.  Laughing begrudgingly at something Bronn had said, or smirking at a joke of his own.  That man had always seemed more real than the Kingslayer.  

_This_ Jaime, then, had to be more real than any of the others.  The Jaime that stood before Bronn in nothing but his boots and breeches, watching him with a defiantly set jaw.  Without the armour he was slimmer than Bronn would have guessed, but he had the arms and chest of a knight; lithely muscled, and scarred from his life’s battles.

Bronn let out a low whistle.  “You know,” he said conversationally, “half the people in Westeros’d give their right hands for the chance to bed you.”  He paused, and smirked.  “Ha—no offence.”

“If you’re going to _mock_ me—” Jaime started, shoulders going tense, and Bronn waved a hand at him.

“I’m just joking,” he relented.  “I only meant that you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Kingslayer.”

“I don’t think _pretty_ is the right word,” Jaime pointed out, a little testily. 

“Yeah it is,” Bronn said.  Jaime was as pretty as a damn picture; he had that _look_ about him, that highborn look.  Like his skin was soft and his hair smelled nice and he didn’t really know what a real fuck was.

“And don’t call me Kingslayer.”

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck you want me to just as soon as you take those off and get over here,” Bronn said, beginning to undo his own clothes and undress.

Jaime hesitated again but once Bronn was half-naked as well, he untied the laces of his breeches, kicked off his boots, and stepped out of everything to leave an expensive pile on the floor.  He didn’t try to cover himself like a timid whore or some shy maiden; he stood proud and defiant in the middle of the room, and frankly the sight alone was enough to get Bronn hard.

“C’mere, then,” Bronn invited, holding one hand out.

Jaime turned the key in the lock first, just in case.  Then he walked across to Bronn without a shred of modesty and stopped before him.  “What do you want?” he asked boredly. 

“This’ll do for now,” Bronn said, reaching out to grasp Jaime’s hips in both hands and pull him forward.  He lost his balance easily, surprised by the movement, and both knees pressed into the bed on either side of Bronn’s thighs until two hands grasped him by the ass and tugged again so he was firmly in the seat of Bronn’s lap.  

Bronn was still wearing his breeches, but Jaime could feel his hardness and was surprised to feel an answering spark of arousal at the feeling of it pressed against him.

One of Bronn’s hands slid along his thigh while the other trailed up his spine, cupping the back of his skull and tipping his head forward for a kiss.

Jaime jerked in surprise but relented quickly enough; he hadn’t been expecting...whatever this was, but it would make the deed easier.  There was little point in denying himself pleasure, and there _was_ pleasure to be had; Bronn kept a firm hold on the back of his head, but his other hand moved—his fingers grazed Jaime’s thigh and hip and knee and lower back, dipping down to caress his ass before starting again, slow and sensual and not at all what Jaime had been expecting.  He was getting harder faster than he would have believed, though Bronn’s hand didn’t once reached between his legs.

He let out the slightest, _barest_ , groan of frustration as Bronn came close to touching him properly—blunt fingernails scraping gently down over his abdomen, teasingly _close_ —but Bronn heard it.  He smirked against Jaime’s mouth.

“Something to say, Kingslayer?” he asked, pulling back by a hair’s breadth.

Jaime caught himself before he could make any other noise that might give him away for actually _enjoying_ himself.  “Only to get on with it,” he said dismissively.  “And don’t _call me that_." 

“What should I call you, then?” Bronn asked, the hand that had been at the back of Jaime’s head sliding down his spine in tandem with the other.  He dug his fingernails in and Jaime jerked again as he tried to stop himself from arching at the sensation.

“My name,” Jaime suggested, and he’d intended for it to be sarcastic but it just sounded like he meant it.

“ _Jaime_.”  Bronn hooked an arm around his waist and fell back, pulling Jaime with him.

They both gasped as they collided on the bed, and Jaime couldn’t stop his hips from grinding down, seeking _more_ —it was simply _instinct_ , to chase that feeling.  He went to pull back—he didn’t want to give Bronn the satisfaction of knowing that he _wanted_ it—but Bronn only grasped his hips and pulled him closer, arching up into him.

Jaime quickly turned his head to the side and bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound, closing his eyes.

“Still nothing to say?” Bronn checked.

“Get on with it,” Jaime ground out.

Bronn chuckled and turned Jaime’s chin to him so he could kiss him again, taking his time rather than heeding the demand.  One hand grasped Jaime’s ass—just as round and perfect as he’d _known_ it would be—to keep him pressed tightly against him while the other held him by the jaw, guiding him where he wanted him.

It wasn’t exactly what Bronn had been planning—when he’d envisioned this (and he _had_ envisioned this), it had been hard and fast and dirty—but there was plenty of time for that later.  Jaime was actually responding to his touches, kissing him back and rolling his hips so gently he probably didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Bronn wondered, briefly, when someone last lay Jaime Lannister down and simply _kissed_ him.

Well, kissed him while grinding like two horny squires.

Bronn wrapped both legs tightly around Jaime’s waist and, without warning, shoved up and to the side, rolling them over so Jaime lay beneath him.  _That_ was how he had imagined him, and Jaime looked every bit as delectable on his back as Bronn had known he would.

It wasn’t slow or languous, then.  Bronn leaned in and kissed Jaime roughly, bit his lip and pressed one hand not-so-lightly against his throat as he nipped along his jaw.  He’d thought that Jaime might complain at being put in this position but he barely seemed to have noticed the switch, his fingers fisted in the waistband of Bronn’s breeches while he pushed upwards with his hips and opened his mouth not for Bronn’s tongue but to let out a quiet, shuddering moan.

“That’s it,” Bronn murmured, pressing down with his hips again and rolling against Jaime, picking up a rhythm gently back and forth while he fumbled in his pocket for a small vial of oil.  As his fingers closed around it, he sat up, pinning Jaime’s hips firmly to the bed as he smirked down at him and uncorked the bottle.

Jaime frowned.  “Was that in your _pocket_?” he demanded, sounding a lot less the highborn lord he was given the breathless way he asked.

“Yup.”

“Did you _plan_ this?” Jaime demanded next, lurching upright—or, as upright as he could get with the weight in his lap.

“More or less,” Bronn admitted freely, pushing him back with a hand on his shoulder.  “Lie down.”

He liberally coated his fingers in oil and re-corked the bottle.  “When’s the last time you did this?” Bronn asked, dipping his hand between Jaime’s thighs and pressing gently against his hole with one finger, watching his expression closely.  If Jaime Lannister was anything, it was far too proud to ever admit that something hurt.

Jaime’s face contorted for a moment at the pressure before he made an obvious effort to relax, his legs falling open a little more as his head dropped back.  He let out a quick breath and laughed unsteadily.  “The last time I did _this_ , or the last time I was with a man?”

Bronn’s eyebrows jumped towards his hairline.  Now wasn’t _that_ interesting.

“With a man,” Bronn said, because he could guess that whatever Jaime had done with Cersei, it was probably fairly recent.

“It’s been a— _ah_ ,” Jaime cut himself off, closing his eyes as Bronn pushed one finger fully inside while he was speaking, “a long time.  A lifetime.”

“A lifetime, huh?” Bronn said, leaning forward to kiss him again, distracting him from the motion of his hand as he worked his finger slowly in and out, taking his time—they had all night, after all, and Bronn didn’t want to spook him.  “Never even indulged a little at a whorehouse?” he pulled back to ask, scraping his teeth against the stubble on Jaime’s jaw, then kissed him again before he could answer.  

He used his free hand to reach up and tweak at one nipple and Jaime jerked hard beneath him, groaning open-mouthed into the kiss.

“Or before a battle?” Bronn continued, leaning down a little more to bite Jaime’s ear-lobe and flick his tongue against the same spot a second later.  “Nothing like a coming battle to get you in the mood.”  Knowing that he could die tomorrow had always made Bronn want to drink and fuck and _live_ , and tonight was no exception.  Then, of course, there was nothing quite like _surviving_ a battle to get you in the mood to celebrate, as well.

He added a second finger without fanfare, going back to kissing Jaime as he tensed, working on relaxing him all over again.  It was easier that time; Jaime went pliant beneath him after only a few moments, returning his kisses with a lazy mindlessness.  That was helpful for Bronn as his attention was half split between occupying Jaime’s mouth thus and seeking out the spot inside him that would have him begging for it, as he’d promised in the beginning.

He knew he’d found it when Jaime lurched and swore, both arms flying up—his left grabbing at Bronn’s shoulder while his right wrist smacked into him as he arched back, eyes wide and glazed with shock. 

“Yes, yes, _that_ ,” he gasped, pushing his hips up.  “Gods, what _was_ that?”

Bronn laughed, curling his fingers just _so_ and smirking down at Jaime as he arched into it, throwing his head back and letting out a moan to match any whore’s.  “Ssh,” Bronn said quickly, slapping his left hand over Jaime’s mouth.  “The whole bloody inn’ll hear us.  I thought you said you’d done this before?”

Jaime tried to speak around the makeshift gag but didn’t make much sense as Bronn didn’t remove his hand, instead nudging the spot inside him again so that Jaime’s words became nothing more than nonsense against Bronn’s palm.

Bronn added a third finger while Jaime was riding out the surge of pleasure, stretching him less carefully and more pointedly, fairly certain that if he didn’t get inside him soon he was likely to _die_ of blue balls long before the battle tomorrow.

“Anything to say, Kings—Jaime?” Bronn asked, taking his hand from Jaime’s mouth and using it to shove his trousers down and free himself.  Even the cool air against his cock was nearly too much; it took all the self control Bronn had not to take hold of Jaime’s hips and push inside right then.

“Just do it,” Jaime growled, shoving his hips upward.  It was more a demand than ever, but Bronn had made him a promise he had every intention of keeping, no matter how much self control it took.

“Patience, princess,” Bronn mock-scolded him, continuing to finger him open with one hand while he began to stroke himself with the other, sitting back to look down on Jaime.  “They never teach you highborn lot that, do they?  Think you can get anything you want just by ordering it. 

“Might I point _out_ ,” Jaime said, with all the grace he could muster given his current position, “that this was _your_ idea.”

“Aye, it was,” Bronn agreed.  “Just say the word and I’ll give you what you want, my little lordling.”

“ _Bronn_ ,” Jaime snapped.

“Not the word I was looking for,” Bronn said unconcernedly, removing his fingers.

Jaime let out a shaky groan and shook his head.  “Come _on_ ,” he said, but his mouth remained stubbornly closed around the one word Bronn _would_ hear before he gave in.

“Just waiting on you, Lannister,” Bronn told him, pressing just the tip of his cock against Jaime’s entrance and holding himself there with an iron effort.  He took Jaime in hand as well, squeezing instead of stroking; not tightly, but hard enough. 

Jaime’s head twisted to one side and his expression screwed up as he fought a ridiculous, internal battle with his own pride.

“ _Please_ ,” he gritted out, as though it physically pained him to say the word.

Bronn didn’t wait a single second more; he thrust hard, all the way inside, and Jaime clapped his own hand over his mouth too late to muffle the _sinful_ sound that escaped him.  Bronn’s hand joined it a second later, eyes wide as he looked behind him, keeping quiet as he listened.  Jaime fidgeted beneath him, clenching around Bronn, and Bronn reacted instinctively, pulling back so he could press back in. 

“ _Move_ ,” Jaime demanded hoarsely, once both hands were gone from his mouth.

“Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, then,” Bronn said.

Jaime nodded at him without a word and Bronn moved, slowly at first but he picked up the pace once he was sure Jaime had control of himself, thrusting harder each time and taking hold of Jaime’s hips to help angle him properly. 

Jaime reached to touch himself but Bronn caught his wrist before he could, pulling it up and pinning it to the bed beside his head.  “Not yet,” he decided, knowing that Jaime would be furious but, without his right hand, quite unable to do anything about it. 

It was a good angle, though, and Bronn placed his other hand on Jaime’s shoulder, holding tightly as he drove in, preempting Jaime’s complaints and demands with harder and harder thrusts so he couldn’t voice them, could only bite his lip and throw his head back and shudder at the pleasure of it all.

Then Bronn pulled out without warning and Jaime’s eyes flew open.

“ _Bronn_ ,” he protested immediately, panting as he sat up, but Bronn only made a circle in the air with one finger, taking a moment to catch his breath himself.

“Turn over,” Bronn said, taking Jaime’s hip and pulling him over onto his front.  “Like this.”

Jaime barely had time to scramble to support himself on his elbows before Bronn entered him again, deeper this time, with shorter, sharper thrusts, quicker than before and—

“ _Gods_ ,” Jaime let out before he could help himself.

Bronn slapped his thigh without thinking, leaning down into him, against his back.  “Quiet,” he hissed.  “Bite down on the pillow, for fuck sake.”  The last thing they needed was _that_ rumour spreading.  Still, Bronn made sure to angle for that same spot that had made Jaime cry out and found himself savagely pleased when he realised that Jaime truly _had_ bitten down on the pillow to muffle his moans.

Knowing then that they weren’t likely to be overheard no matter how loud Jaime was, Bronn increased his pace, pulling out further and shoving in harder, gripping Jaime’s hips and pulling them back against him as he thrust roughly inside.

_Gods_ , but he was tight, and so fucking responsive.  It was a shame for him to bury his head and swallow down all his sweets sounds, but it couldn’t be helped.  Maybe, some other time…

But Bronn wasn’t going to last much longer.  He reached around to take Jaime’s cock in hand, determined that Jaime would finish first, and with Bronn still balls-deep inside him.  It wouldn’t take much, not while Bronn continued to aim for that sweet spot, not if the sounds Jaime was making, even muffled, were any indication.

Bronn was fairly sure that Jaime could have finished without any help at all, just from his cock, but he didn’t think _he_ could last long enough to test that theory.

He jerked Jaime roughly in time with his thrusts and none-too-careful, grunting with the effort of the bruising force he was using to chase his own release.

It didn’t take long for Jaime to bury his head in the covers and spill over the first clenched around him, shuddering with the effort of keeping quiet when Bronn didn’t stop the motion of either his hand or his hips.

Jaime pulled his head up enough to let out a strangled moan of protest, his hips bucking against the sensation as he gasped for breath.

“Bronn, _Bronn_ , it’s too much, I can’t—”

Bronn ignored him and pressed flat against Jaime’s back, biting down on his shoulder to muffle his own groan as he came, pleased by Jaime’s yelp at the sharp, unexpected pain.

For several minutes, they both simply lay there as they cooled off.  Bronn didn’t bother pulling out, focusing instead on catching his breath while Jaime was distracted, doing the same.  Besides which, he wasn’t entirely sure his limbs would cooperate yet.

Eventually, though, Bronn had to move.  He’d get a cramp otherwise.

“Hold still,” he said, splaying both hands against Jaime’s hips as he slowly pulled out.  He rolled to one side and sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, letting the blood in his body resume its normal flow and re-adjusting himself to the world now that the world no longer simply consisted of fucking Jaime Lannister through a mattress.  

“Well,” Bronn said conversationally, walking around the bed to find the chamber pot and take a piss.  “Never let it be said that Lannisters do not pay their debts.  You are _quite_ the highborn prize, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime ignored him and Bronn kept his back turned in case the other man was in need of a moment to have a private crisis.  He half expected to hear the door open and close, signalling Jaime’s pointed departure, but the room remained quiet.

“I’ll leave the door locked, shall I?” Bronn asked, walking over to the wall to retrieve the knife he’d thrown earlier and pack it back with his things.  “Best to, if we’re both in here.”

Jaime didn’t bother replying.

Bronn picked up a cloth and dunked it in the jug of water meant for drinking, using it to wipe himself off as best he could.  It didn’t really matter; he’d be covered in mud and blood and more sweat by tomorrow, if he lived that long, but it made him feel better to get the worst off.

Then he tossed the cloth aside and heaved a sigh.  “Come on, princess, ain’t like you’ve never—”  Bronn turned as he spoke, a little annoyed by Jaime’s stubborn silence, only to cut himself off.  

Jaime wasn’t ignoring him at all; he was fast asleep.

He—Ser Bronn of the Blackwater—had done that, fucked the Kingslayer himself into exhaustion so deep he didn’t even stir with Bronn stomping about the room and talking away.

“Well, _well_ ,” Bronn muttered to himself, unable to wrangle the smug grin on his face into anything other than exactly that.

Bronn probably ought to pull the sheets over Jaime, but he didn’t.  Instead, he clambered carefully back onto the bed and settled to sit at the head of it, looking down the long line of Jaime’s naked body, so thoughtfully displayed for him.

Truly, if Bronn were a younger man, he thought he’d probably be hard again just at the sight of him.  It was often said that Cersei Lannister was among the most beautiful women in all the Seven Kingdoms, so it must be that Jaime Lannister, as near a mirror image of her as one could be, was the most beautiful man.  Bronn had bedded many and more in his life; men, women—warm bodies were all the same to him.  Jaime truly was something else, though; Bronn almost couldn’t believe his luck.  Surely no sellsword had ever been paid so handsomely?

_Highborn beauty, indeed_.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This ship needs more fic so HERE I AM.


End file.
